


Of Sprained Ankles and Ice Cream

by as_with_a_sunbeam



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, January 1797, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 00:18:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18377042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/as_with_a_sunbeam/pseuds/as_with_a_sunbeam
Summary: Alexander spends his 40th birthday trapped in bed with a badly sprained ankle. Thanks to his loving wife and family, however, the day turns out far better than expected.__Based on a request from tumblr: "Hamilton spending his birthday in bed with Eliza and the kids doting on him...."





	Of Sprained Ankles and Ice Cream

**January 11, 1797  
**

“What do you think you’re doing?” Eliza demanded.

Alexander gave her a guilty glance over his shoulder as he continued to wrestle unsteadily with the stuck bedroom window, his bandaged right foot hovering an inch off the floor. “It’s stuffy in here,” he said. “I wanted some fresh air.”

“And you couldn’t wait two minutes for me to come back? Doctor Charlton just said you should stay off your feet as much as possible.”

He shrugged, then pulled at the window with renewed force. “Can you help me? I can’t quite get the leverage I need.”

She shook her head as she moved across the bedroom to assist him. Ever since Robert Troup had brought him home from the fire patrol with a badly turned ankle from a spill on the icy streets, it was all she could do to keep him still. She’d get him settled with his medicine, some tea, and a book, his leg comfortably propped up on just the right number of pillows, only for him to leap back up insisting he needed a different book, paper, any excuse not to stay in place.

The constant up and down wasn’t doing him any favors. His ankle was still horribly swollen and black and blue beneath the tightly wound bandages. He’d been in such pain that morning—pale, sweating, and sick from the constant, throbbing ache—she’d worried he’d truly broken a bone in his fall. When Doctor Charlton had finally arrived an hour ago, his face had fixed in a frown as he’d tried to ascertain that the bone was still firm. It was, he’d decided at last, but he recommended ice and bed rest until the swelling reduced.

Eliza unstuck the window with little effort, and the cold, crisp January air rushed into the room.  “There now. Come on,” she said, ducking under his air to brace him. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

He hopped the few steps back to the bed with her assistance and sat with a sigh. A rueful smile tugged at his lips when he met her eye. “This isn’t how I imagined I’d be spending my fortieth birthday.”

“I know, honey.” It wasn’t what she’d imagined either. All her plans for a grand party had been pushed aside the moment Troup had practically carried her husband through the door last week. “We’ll do something special when you’re better, I promise. For now, you need to rest and heal.”

“I don’t want to rest. I’m bored,” he complained, even as he laid back. She plumped the pillows at the foot of the bed and slowly guided his injured leg back into place. He hissed with pain when her fingers brushed against his bandage.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wincing with sympathy. “Do you want some ice? Or some more brandy?”

“Ice is what got me into this mess. And I can’t have any more brandy without eating something.”

“I’ll bring the stew back up for you, then.” He’d refused it earlier, too nauseated from the pain to have any appetite.

“I’m not hungry.” He flipped the blankets back over his lap with a frustrated huff. She could feel his mood shifting again as it often had over the past week, the pain and boredom combining to leave him supremely grouchy.

Turning to the bedside table, she poured the brandy in the glass decanter out into a small glass and handed it over to him. “Drink. You’ll feel better.”

“I can’t keep drinking brandy on an empty stomach. Are you trying to get me drunk?”

She snapped fingers. “Darn. You figured it out.”

That made him laugh, at least, some of the foul humor easing from his expression. He took a sip and replaced the glass on the table. His hand ran over the spine of the book he’d been reading, and he frowned. “I want something else, I think. Something more cheerful. Maybe Swift?”

He made to rise again, but she caught him by the shoulders. “Stay.”

“But Betsey—”

“No. You’re never going to heal if you keep putting weight on that foot. I’ll get you a different book, and anything else you need for the next few days.”

“I hate this,” he said, real melancholy leaching back into his voice.

“I know,” she consoled him. She couldn’t stand to see him so gloomy on his birthday, but she had little idea how to cheer him up.

“I feel like a prisoner.”  

The comparison sparked a sudden idea. Smiling, she pulled away from him and went to the door. Rather than go to fetch his book, though, she shut the door with a soft snap and turned back to him. His brow wrinkled with confusion.

“A prisoner, you say?” she asked, a hint of flirtation entering her voice as she climbed up next to him.  

A smile curled over his face as she leaned close, her lips ghosting over his neck. His hands settled on her hips. “Mm-hm.”

“Well, then, this won’t do.”

After a long, leisurely kiss, she brought her hands down to his and slowly pushed his arms up over his head to rest against the headboard. She held them in place with her right hand and reached for the tie to the bed curtains with her left, looping the fabric loosely around his wrists.

“Eliza?” He laughed with surprised delight, his head craning to look at the makeshift manacles. “What are you doing?”

“That’s better.” She sat back on her haunches with a grin. “You should have the full prisoner experience so long as you’re being held here.”

“I think this is technically kidnapping.”

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Oh. Are you going to press charges, counsellor?”

He laughed again, beaming as he tilted his head, considering. “Being held captive by my beautiful wife? I honestly can’t think of anything better. Please never let me go.”

“Never,” she agreed, leaning over to kiss him again.

He wriggled his wrists from the loose binding and brought his hands down, one going back to her hip while the knuckles of the other caressed her cheek. She rolled on top of him, kissing him with more purpose, all thought of his injury gone from her mind as she pressed closer to him. Her leg moved as she adjusted over him, bumping against the pillows at the foot of the bed and eliciting a sharp yelp of pain from her husband.

“Ow. Damn it.”

“Sorry,” she said, rolling hastily off of him. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, bending forward to adjust the pillows propping up his foot and glowering at his injured limb. He looked up at her regretfully and repeated, “I hate this.”

She rubbed a hand over his tense shoulders, the amorous intent of moments before now gone. “I wish there was more I could do to help you.”

“You’ve been nothing but wonderful,” he countered.

She nuzzled her nose against his neck affectionately before shifting her legs off the bed to stand. “I’ll bring you your book and some ice. Will you at least try to eat something?”

He nodded. “I’ll try.”

She gave his hand a squeeze and headed downstairs towards the kitchen.

Their maid looked up from the ice cream machine when Eliza entered. For all the other surprises she’d had to table due to his injury, this one at least he could still enjoy. Smiling at the young woman, Eliza asked, “How’s the ice cream coming along?”

“Almost ready, ma’am,” Mary answered. “Is Mr. Hamilton feeling any better?”

“He’ll be all right,” Eliza said. She placed the small stew pot back over the fire. “I’m going to heat up some stew for him. He needs some food in his belly so he can take something to manage his pain. Bring the ice cream whenever it’s ready, though. That’ll cheer him up more than anything.”

Mary smiled. “I will, ma’am.”

While the stew heated, Eliza stepped out the back door and scooped up some snow to make a cold pack. Shivering, she hurried back inside, prepared a tray, and peeked at the pot to find the stew bubbling merrily. She scooped it into a bowl and carried the tray back upstairs.

“It’s cold in here, Papa,” she heard Johnny complaining as she approached the bedroom.

“Well, get under the covers,” Alexander urged. “Quick, quick!”

She  entered the room in time to see her five year old burrowing under the blankets. Alexander looked over at her, utterly amused. “Careful of Papa’s leg,” she said.

“I am, Mama,” Johnny assured her, lowering the blankets enough for her to see his eyes.

“You’re right that it’s too cold in here, though.” The room was beyond chilly with the window still open. Placing the tray on the side table, she moved around the bed to close it. “That’s better.”

Alexander had pulled the tray onto his lap. “I suppose.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cold pack?” she offered, picking up the snow filled pack and holding it up for his inspection.

He nodded, mouth full of stew. For all he’d refused food throughout the day, he was eating with enthusiasm now. His pain must have eased finally. Carefully placing the pack over his ankle, she patted his knee tenderly.

“Feeling a little better, sweetheart?”

“I am,” he said, holding a hand up to cover his mouth. “Thank you for the stew. It’s delicious.”

She sat on the other side of Johnny, dropping a kiss to the boy’s curly, dark hair. Her little boy wrinkled his nose until she tickled him under the armpit. He pealed with laughter, wriggling away towards his father for protection. Alexander chuckled as he wrapped an arm around their youngest, drawing him close. Johnny cuddled up against him adoringly.

Almost as soon as Alexander had finished eating the stew, Mary came up with the ice cream in a small bowl. Alexander’s eyes lit up at the sight of the treat, just as Eliza knew they would. He’d always had a sweet tooth, generally, and he especially loved vanilla ice cream.

“Ice cream!” Johnny exclaimed, bouncing with excitement. The excited call drew her other children from their rooms, Philip, Angelica, Alex, and Jamie all standing hopefully in the doorway.

“Come in, come in,” Alexander invited. They all scurried in, settling around him on the bed, huddling close against the chill of the room. Angelica cuddled against his other side while Pip and Alex sat cross legged at the foot of the bed. Jamie, always eager as his father for sweets, sat as close as he could to the ice cream bowl. Glancing at Mary, Alexander added, “I think we’re going to need a bigger bowl, and some more spoons.”

“I’ll bring them, sir,” Mary said.

He let Johnny and Jamie have the first taste, then took the spoon back to take a big bite. “Mm-mm. There’s nothing better than vanilla ice cream.”

“On a cold January day,” Eliza added, shaking her head.

“Exactly.”

Over the noisy chatter of their little ones, she said softly, “Happy birthday, my love."

He grinned as Jamie stole the spoon away from him again. His eyes scanned over his children all gathered around him before he looked at her, love and gratitude shining in their depths. With absolute sincerity, he replied, “I think it’s one of the best I’ve ever had.”  

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a request from tumblr for "Hamilton spending his birthday in bed with Eliza and the kids doting on him...." 
> 
> Ham really did likely spend his 40th birthday stuck in bed with an injured leg. In December 1796, a rash of unexplained fires caused a panic in New York City, prompting a nightly fire watch to be established. According to Robert Troup, Hamilton was injured in the course of one of these watches and spent several weeks at the beginning of 1797 "laid up with a lame leg." (See Robert Troup to Rufus King, 28 January 1797). 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Comments/kudos are always greatly appreciated!!


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